


Tied Up

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-18
Updated: 2006-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: "Don't...touch me, Rostov," Ian snarled. "Ever." Young/Rostov. (10/28/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 1.21 "Detained."  
  
This story is in canon with DNash's Log Rhythms series. I highly recommend this series of the continuing adventures of the _Enterprise_ crew. The character of Ensign Ian Young belongs to DNash and is used with permission. With thanks to Lt Black Fire, whose great '5-minute' challenge was _just_ the opening sentence I needed to get this party started! For Kyrdwyn, who asked so nicely.  
  
Beta: With thanks to my Betas: The dynamite DNash, the Super Sophia and the marvellous Maching Monkey  


* * *

The pain was getting worse by the second, and Ensign Ian Young didn't know how long he would be able to ignore it. His hands tingled with pins-and-needles numbness, burning from his fingertips all the way to his shoulders. He could feel the ropes biting into his skin, even through the layers of his uniform. His blood pounded thickly through his constricted veins. His head was aching.

His arms were tied behind his back, lashed together from elbow to wrist, forcing him to sit unnaturally straight, as if he was at attention. His ankles were tied together as well, preventing him from being able to change position easily, forcing him to sit on the hard floor of their prison. At least the thick leather of his boots helped ease the pressure on his ankles. He shifted position, trying to relieve the terrible sensation in his arms. A shooting pain stabbed up from his wrists to his neck and up into his eyeballs. "Fucking hell!" he cried, sucking in his breath.

Michael Rostov, the engineering crewman, turned his head to look at him. "Shut up."

"Fuck you." Ian panted, "Get yourself tied up this tight. See how much you like it."

Michael shrugged. "No one asked you to take a swing at them." He lounged against the bulkhead. "It's your own fault."

"My fault!" Ian shouted, then winced as the sound increased the jagged pain behind his eyes. "They were dragging Ari out of the room by his fucking _hair!_ What did you expect me to do? Sit back and take fucking pictures?"

"What did you think would happen?" Rostov shouted back. "There were eight of those bastards surrounding us. _Eight!_ What the hell were you thinking? That you'd be able to take them all out?" He sneered at Ian. "You're lucky they didn't kill you. And Ari as well, just to make a point."

"I had to do something, Rostov!" Young exclaimed, "I had to—" He cried out as another agonizing jolt raced up his arms. His fingertips began throbbing in time with his pulse. The pain was intense, fierce and distracting. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught, watching red dots swim sickenly behind his eyelids.

"Easy," Michael said to him as he moved closer, positioning his body so Ian was leaning against him, Young's forehead against the side of his neck. Michael's body was large and solid, his heartbeat slow and regular even after several hours of captivity. Ian took a shuddering breath, fighting back the wave of nausea that threatened to consume him. "Better?" Rostov asked, his breath puffing gently against Ian's cheek. Even after all these weeks, Ian was still terribly aware of the other man.

"Hurts." Ian gasped, eyes still closed. "The bindings, they're too tight."

"I know," Rostov replied. He moved, and Young felt his absence keenly. He let his head drop forward, then straightened it immediately, reeling with the pain that small movement caused.

Young felt a tugging at his wrists and he bit his lip against the renewed aching. Michael cursed from behind his back.

"There's no way I can undo these bindings with my hands," he said. "They have some kind of locking mechanism that can only be cut apart. If I still had my tool kit..." He let his voice trail off. They had been efficiently searched as soon as they had arrived on the aliens' ship. All items of use had been removed and destroyed. Including their communicators, the small tool kit Rostov kept in his shirt pocket, and the knife Ian always had tucked into one boot. And then they had taken Ari.

It had happened almost immediately after they had been transported off _Enterprise._ One moment, the three of them had been sitting together, eating breakfast before their shift, and the next, the mess hall had been illuminated with a pale, blue light. Ian had been the first to react, jumping to his feet and reaching for his communicator in the same motion. He had arrived on the alien vessel with his hand touching his sleeve.

Ian had never seen the aliens before. There were eight of them waiting on the other side of the transport. They were humanoid, with over-sized eyes in jewel tones and dainty features. Their ears were set back and pointed, their fingers long and graceful, and the over- all affect was like looking at a life-sized fairy or elf from a children's story book.

That's where the similarity ended. There was nothing remotely enchanting about the large, lethal-looking rifles the aliens were pointing at them, or the way the aliens adroitly searched their uniforms. The one in front narrowed his eyes at Ari and spat: "You, Green One. Come here."

Ensign Ari Cohn had looked nervously at Ian, then back at the alien. "What?"

"Red and green." The alien said, expression growing darker. He gestured at the red piping on both Ian and Michael's uniform, then the green piping on Ari's. "Green One," he repeated. "Come. Now."

Cohn glanced at Young. Ian shook his head minutely, indicating to Ari that he shouldn't go. He took a second to look past Ari's head and catch Rostov's eye, and Michael gave a small nod of understanding. They'd have a better chance if they stayed together. He didn't have a clue why they wanted Ari so badly, but there was no way they were taking the med. tech without a fight. Ari didn't move. He swallowed, but his voice was firm. "Return us to our ship."

The alien muttered something in its native language, and then everything happened at once. Two of the aliens stepped towards Cohn, one slamming him hard in the stomach, and the other fisting its long fingers through Ari's dark curls when the ensign doubled over. The second alien began pulling him out of the room by his hair.

In three strides, Ian had tackled the alien that had hit Ari, grabbing its weapon and using his feet to sweep it off balance as Lieutenant Reed had taught him. The alien fell, releasing its hold on the rifle to break its fall. Immediately, Young turned and aimed it at the alien that was dragging Cohn off, pulling the trigger.

Nothing happened. Ian didn't even have time to curse his luck before something hard cracked against his skull, and everything went black.

He had woken up what felt like hours later, lying on his side on the cold floor of their cell. Arms trussed up behind him, head aching, and Rostov looking down at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Stop pulling on the ropes!" Ian gasped. If anything, Michael's attempt at loosening his bindings had made them even tighter. The pain ricocheted through him, spearing through his shoulder blades and tearing through his head.

"Sorry," Rostov mumbled. "Here." Gently, he grasped Ian's shoulders and lowered him onto his side. Young protested feebly, stiffening against the movement. But Michael was careful and Ian's pain didn't increase. Rostov rested Ian's head in his lap; a position that eased some of the pressure off his shoulders and dulled a bit of the aching behind his eyes.

"You were hit pretty hard," Michael said as he lightly ran his fingers over the back of Ian's head. "There's blood."

"Mmmm," Ian murmured, allowing his eyes to close. Rostov's fingers were incredibly soothing, and even the small decrease in pain was a welcome relief. He let himself be lulled by the rhythmic movement of Michael's hands, the comfort of Michael's strong thigh beneath his cheek. It was the first time Michael had touched him since Mae's party. The night they had slept together. Young's eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up.

"Don't," Rostov said. "You'll hurt yourself."

Even the small movement caused him unspeakable agony, and Young knew Rostov was right. He sagged back down, forcing his straining muscles to relax as much as possible. He couldn't believe how casually the aliens had caused him this much pain. He thought of Ari, and a hard, black lump of fear formed in his gut.

"What do you think they're doing to Cohn?" Michael said softly, as if he had read Ian's mind.

"Why'd they take him?" Young asked. "He doesn't know anything about _Enterprise_!" He took a deep breath. "He's not in security. He's not trained for—for stuff like this."

"Torture, you mean?" Rostov replied. "Maybe that's why they took him. Maybe they knew."

Ian swallowed hard and closed his eyes against the onslaught of images of what the aliens could be doing to his best friend. It didn't help. He opened them again. "Ari's tough. Tougher than he looks. He'll be alright." He wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince.

"Sure," Rostov said, and began massaging Young's neck.

Michael's fingers were strong, like the rest of him, and Ian's mind began to drift to the last time he had been in such intimate contact with the crewman. He felt the first stirrings of an erection, and clamped down hard on his wayward thoughts. This was not the time or the place. Ari could be hurt, _dying._ And all he could think about was getting his rocks off with Michael? "Ari _is_ tough," Ian repeated. "We did our survival training together in Northern B.C. The guy was a trooper; carrying everybody's packs, bandaging up our feet, giving his food supply away to anyone that needed it. Don't let those doe-eyes fool you. He can take it."

He felt Michael's hand pause. "You were in basic with Cohn?"

"Yeah," Ian replied, puzzled. "That's why we asked to room together. Didn't you know that?"

"I thought you met on board ship." Rostov began massaging him again.

Young sighed with contentment. "No," he answered, "we met the first day of Starfleet basic training." Their friendship had been sealed the first time they had gotten drunk together, and Ian had ended up crying in Ari's dorm room. Sobbing like a child about the death of his father. Something Rostov didn't need to know.

"Hmm," Michael replied noncommittally.

Ian narrowed his eyes. He rolled his head back so he could just see Rostov's face out of the corner of his eye. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't say anything."

Ian raised his head to glare at him, then let it sag down again as pain lanced through him again. "You did," he gasped. "I heard you."

"You're so fucking paranoid, Young," Rostov said.

"What did you mean?" Ian was determined.

Ian felt Michael's shrug. "I just didn't think you were that good friends, is all," he said. "You don't seem like Ari's type."

"His 'type'?'" Ian repeated.

"You know," Michael said. "I would've thought Ari would prefer someone less—"

"Less what?" Ian asked archly, "Tall?"

"Closed," Michael finished. "I would've thought Ari would prefer someone who was more open with his emotions."

"'More open?'" Ian echoed. "What the hell do you mean by that?" He could feel a slow burn of anger and he made another attempt to get upright. Rostov held him down with one strong hand against his shoulder.

"Don't," the crewman said. "It's better if you stay still." Young ceased his struggles, annoyed that he had to deal with Rostov lying down. "I meant," Michael continued after a moment, "that Ari is very open with his feelings, and you're not. I'm surprised he puts up with it."

_Puts up with it?_ Ian thought. _Like it's a problem?_ "Oh yeah. Like you're spouting poetry in the middle of the bridge," he shot back.

He felt Rostov shrug again. "I say what I mean."

"And I don't?"

"No, you don't."

Ian snorted. "Whatever."

"No, you don't," Rostov repeated. "You make jokes, or get sarcastic, or get angry. That's it."

"So what?"

"So, nothing," Michael said. His fingers found a particularly sore spot, and Ian hissed against it.

"How do you know?" Ian said finally, when the ache in his shoulders had receded again.

Michael sounded distracted. "Know what?"

Ian grit his teeth. "How do you know I don't say what I feel?" It was bizarre to be having this conversation while tied up, lying in Rostov's lap, facing away from him. It gave the whole situation a sense of unreality. He knew if he could, he would have just walked away, but now he felt almost compelled to see this through to the bitter end. At least it kept his mind away from Ari; images of Ari's uniform splattered with blood.

"Remember the night of Mae's party?" Rostov asked.

Ian was instantly tense. "Yeah?" he said, wincing as pain stabbed through him.

"We had sex," Michael continued.

_As if I wouldn't remember that!_ "Uh huh," he said, wishing Michael would get to the point.

"And it was great, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Ian said again. "So?"

"So, why haven't we done it again?"

"How the hell should I know?" Young replied, trying to inject as much scorn into his voice as possible.

"'Cause you're the one doing all the avoiding," Rostov answered. "It's been weeks since it happened, and you haven't come near me since."

Ian made a face, even though he knew Michael couldn't see it. "You're full of shit. I talk with you plenty."

"No, you don't," Michael said. "Fighting with me when we're having a drink with Cohn and Mayweather doesn't count." Ian changed tactics. "Maybe I don't have much to talk to you about."

He felt Rostov shrug for a third time. "Maybe not. But I'll bet credits that you haven't been talking to me because you're afraid."

"What?" Ian was outraged. He pushed himself off Michael's lap with his left arm. The agony was instant and excruciating. He cried out, and collapsed back down, blackness crowding the edges of his vision. He couldn't catch his breath. Tears seeped from under his closed lids.

"Told you not to move," Michael said mildly.

"Fuck you," Ian forced between breaths. "I am not afraid."

"Sure," Rostov agreed sarcastically. "Of course not."

"I'm not!" Young said vehemently. "I'm not afraid of you."

"No, you're not afraid of _me_ ," Rostov said. "You're afraid of how you feel about me." He put a hand on Young's head to still any further movement. "No, you are," Michael continued. "You came to my room wanting to have sex. You left the next morning wanting more, and that scared the piss out of you. Of course you can't say any of that to anyone, so you haven't come near me since. Vulcan logic."

"Don't flatter yourself," Ian sneered. "I don't even fucking _like_ you, Rostov."

Ian felt the crewman shift position, raising him gently from where he had been lying until he was once again sitting upright, legs bent in front of him. Rostov was kneeling beside him. "Right," Rostov said. "And I bet you hate it when I do this." And suddenly Michael cupped the sides of Ian's face, leaned in, and kissed him.

Ian opened his mouth under Michael's without even a token protest. It was everything Ian had remembered, and more. Michael's mouth was hot and hard, demanding and fierce. Almost devouring him in its intensity. Michael's hands were firm against his face, holding him, trapping their lips together. Ian was still bound, still helpless. It was infuriating and a bit scary and incredibly erotic.

Michael was sucking on his tongue.

Ian felt his erect cock strain against the seam of his uniform. He wanted to push Michael away, push him to the ground. He wanted to get as far away as possible, he wanted to rip off Michael's clothes and fuck him until they both couldn't stand.

It was too much.

In one swift movement, he leaned back onto his hands, lifted his legs off the floor and kicked Rostov in the chest. Hard. He bit his lip as his tortured limbs screamed in protest, smiled grimly when he tasted blood.

Rostov flew away from Young, landing hard on his back. He sat up slowly, rubbing his chest with one hand. "What the fuck was that for?"

"Don't fucking touch me, Rostov," Ian snarled. " _Ever_."

"You keep running, Young," Rostov smirked at him, glancing deliberately at Ian's erection. "But we both know the truth."

Ian never got a chance to reply. At that instant, the door of their cell opened, and before either man could react, two of the aliens walked in.

And directly on their heels were Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed, and Ensign Ari Cohn, right eye swollen and purple; grinning like the cat who got the cream.

"Hi guys!" he said cheerfully. "Ready to go home?"

* * *

Ian stretched his hands up over his head. The feeling was bliss.

He was lying on his bunk in the quarters he shared with Ari, dressed only in pyjama bottoms, feeling relaxed and happy and slightly buzzed from the mixture of pain-killers and muscle relaxants Dr. Phlox had given him a few hours before.

Ian had nearly passed out when Lieutenant Reed had cut through his bonds. The split second of relief he had felt had been instantly replaced by incredible pain, as all his nerves fought each other to inform him of his injuries. Luckily, Ari had obtained a hypospray from somewhere, and he had been saved the embarrassment of fainting into the arms of his commanding officer. They had gone to the shuttle immediately and returned to the ship, and then had been taken right to sick bay. Rostov had left soon after, insisting he was fine and that he just wanted to return to his cabin. He told Phlox the livid bruise on his chest had been caused by the butt of an alien rifle.

"Take care of yourself, Young," Rostov said as he passed.

"You too," Ian had replied. And for some stupid reason, he had to watch Rostov as he left, not turning away until the door swished shut behind him.

But now he was back in his cabin, clean and dry from his recent shower. The only evidence of his ordeal were the scrapes and bruises that circled his arms, the soreness of his shoulders, and the small ache in his head from where he was hit. He settled his hands on his stomach and turned towards his roommate.

Ari was lying on his bunk, PADD in hand. He was squinting at the writing through his good eye, his other eye nearly swollen shut. A present from the aliens, Ian supposed.

"So," he said, smiling at how slow his voice sounded. "How did you rescue us?"

Ari turned to look at him and smiled. "Actually, it was Hoshi who did it."

"Hoshi?" Ian was surprised. "How?"

"She's one smart woman!" Ari exclaimed. "Turns out it was her turn to eat breakfast with the Captain. She was grabbed right out of his dining room, right in front of him. She said she materialized a few moments after Commander Tucker did. He was fighting tooth and nail with the aliens, and she used the distraction to hide her communicator down her Starfleet blues."

"Really?" Ian grinned. "I'd like to see that."

Ari rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he continued after a moment. "They were grouping us all by colour, trying to figure out what it meant, I guess. I was thrown into a cell with Hoshi, and since I'd already been searched, she gave me her communicator to hold on to. Not a moment too soon, either, as they came and dragged her out. I got the bruise when I tried to stop them." Ari grimaced and pointed at his swollen eye.

Ian sat up, suddenly tense. He liked Hoshi. _Really_ liked her. She was everything he had always dreamed about in a woman, everything he knew he had always wanted. He had plans for Hoshi, big plans. He'd kill any alien that so much as touched her. "They took her? Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Ari affirmed. "I saw her in the mess while you were getting patched up."

"Good." Young sighed in relief and settled back down on his bed. He sat back up. "I should go see her." The room spun a little, and he closed his eyes until it stopped.

Cohn looked at him out of his un-bruised eye. "Maybe you should just rest for tonight," he said. "She'll be around tomorrow."

"Okay," Ian agreed. He was feeling tired, and he still felt sore. His head felt heavy and painful in the back where Phlox had stitched up the cut from the alien's rifle. He closed his eyes. "What did those aliens want, anyway?" he mumbled.

"I'm not really sure," Ari replied. "I overheard the Captain say something to Commander Tucker on the way back, about them thinking we were somehow connected with the Suliban. Something about _Enterprise_ destroying a Tandaran colony in order to free some Suliban prisoners."

"Fucking Suliban," Ian muttered. He was nearly asleep.

He heard Ari move off his bunk, and then felt him gently cover him with the blankets. "I'm glad you're okay," Ari whispered. "I was really worried."

Ian smiled without opening his eyes. "I'm glad you're okay, too," he said, and then chuckled softly.

"What's so funny?" Ari asked. He could hear the smile in his roommate's voice.

"Rostov said I don't say what I mean," Ian said. "But I just did."

He heard the click of the light switch, and Ari's soft: "Good night." The room settled into semi-darkness.

Ian rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. He could just make out Ari's face by the dim glow of the PADD he was holding. "Hey, Cohn," he whispered.

Ari turned to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm afraid?"

There was a short pause, then Ari laughed. "Not the way you took on those aliens, you're not."

"Thanks." He rolled back onto his back and closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds.

Ari looked over at his sleeping roommate, watching the easy rise and fall of Ian's chest. "What did Rostov say to you?" he asked under his breath.

He pondered that question for a long time.


End file.
